


Stuff of Legends

by Clocketpatch



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He smelled like magic and leather and strangeness, but not like lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuff of Legends

**Author's Note:**

> Because I wanted to write a story based around Çatalhöyük, and there was a whole epic plot planned out which included woolly rhinos, giant cows, and unicorns. Maybe that story will be written one day. Maybe. Until then, this.
> 
> * * *

  
The air was clear and the sky was natural. The vista of the horizon stretched, it seemed, into forever, and the divide between earth and heaven was sharp enough to inspire myths.

A flock of semi-wild goats munched the scrub as a young boy sat by, idly twirling a leaf by its stem. He wore a simple outfit of woven grass and badly cured leather. He sucked on a small round pebble to keep his mouth moist; The season wasn’t yet cruelly hot, but the day would grow warm once the sun rose to its zenith. His name was Iska. He wished that the gourd he was drying at home to create a water-container would be finished soon, though he knew that it would be many days yet before the vessel was ready.

Suddenly, Iska’s four-legged charges startled. The goats bleated and turned their heads, obviously scenting something on the thin wind. Iska leapt to his feet, brandishing a heavy stick in one hand and a stone knife in the other. He spat out his sucking stone and readied himself for battle if a predator was the cause of distress, or for chase if it was just a case of goats being goats and rushing off at nothing as they did. The goats looked at each other nervously, bleating and shuffling. The alpha-ram lowered his horns and scuffed at the dusty earth.

Iska climbed onto a rocky outcrop and, shielding his eyes against the weak morning sun, searched for the source of the goat’s concern. The landscape was empty in every direction, but that meant nothing. Lions and leopards were adapt at hiding themselves in plain sight — that was their magic, or it could be wild dogs who were full of tricks. Or it might be ghosts.

Iska felt the back of his neck prickle. Something was not right.

A wind came up, ruffling his hair, and it was not a natural wind. The thunder-gods called out, and there was noise like an auroch stampede. Iska was afraid, but he did not hide. He leapt from his rock and moved quickly to herd his feral flock into a circle. Whatever demon was coming to challenge him, he would not back down like a coward. He sniffed at the strange breeze. It smelled like goat and thunder. Odd, since the rains would not be coming for some moons.

The air shimmered and glowed, making a rectangular shape with lines too straight for nature. The goats refused to be herded, and half the flock bolted, much to Iska’s frustration. The roar continued, and as it did the blue of the sky transposed itself to earth. Then, when the apparition was fully formed, the noise ceased. The goats, after a few moments of confusion, reassembled and went back to their quiet grazing, accepting the blue box as if it had always stood in their midst.

Iska, however, was less receiving. He edged up warily to the strange box. It was important, he felt sure, and also, he felt sure, it was magic. He put his knife back into its belt pouch, and, with much trepidation, reached out to touch the flank of the blue box.

He jerked his hand back before his palm could fully settle, and ran backwards a few paces in shock, drawing his knife again.

“What are you?” he asked, “Where come you from?”

The box did not move or answer. It loomed, bridged heaven and earth with its blue.

Iska did not move either, but stayed poised. He could feel the tingle in the air, the crackle of a coming storm. He had heard the box’s thunder, and, though there was not a cloud in the sky, he knew that the flood would not be long in coming.

The box opened, and a man emerged. He was taller than any man Iska had ever seen, and paler also. He was followed by a woman who also had unnatural height. Her hair was like the light of the sun, and Iska marvelled at it. They were dressed strangely, and Iska was not entirely sure where their skin ended and their clothing began. They were magic, he knew, and their box was part of their magic. He did not know how to react:

It was a possibility that these strangers were come to bring blessings, for that happened sometimes, or so the old stories said, but it was also just as often spoke of in stories that strangers might bring badness or plague or drought or a return to the dreaded cold. Not knowing, and hoping for the best, Iska hefted his Shepard stick and waved his knife and bared his teeth.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The woman seemed somewhat amused by his question.

“He’s so small,” she said to the man, and her voice had a slight coo, like the voice which woman used when talking to babies, or girls used when talking to puppies.

The man did not find the same amusement. He eyed Iska critically and, though he had much skill and strength, Iska hoped that the man had not come to be his enemy for, though the man seemed unarmed, Iska did not think he had enough strength to beat him. Iska was not sure if any of the men from his city could beat the stranger, though he was not certain why he thought this way.

“He could still kill you,” the man said to the woman.

Iska glowed to hear that praise and growled to emphasis the man’s words; he was not a little child.

“We come in peace,” said the man. “We are travellers.”

“I know that,” said Iska. “You’ve come from another world. This is the first world, and we do not like god-tricks. You can stay here to look, or to learn, or to give learning to us, but you cannot fool us. We will kill you if you try.”

“No tricks,” said the man. His voice was gruff, but honest. Iska could smell him on the breeze. He smelled like magic and leather and strangeness, but not like lies.

“I believe you,” said Iska.

The man grinned. “Thank you —?”

“They call me Iska,” Iska said.

“Iska, nice name that. I’m the Doctor and this is Rose.”

A healer and a flower. Iska thought the names strange. They sounded like hidden names, and who said their hidden name to a stranger? But then, the Doctor and the Rose were not of the first world, and perhaps things were done differently in their land.

“So…” said Rose, stalling her words with her tongue. “Iska, you’re what, how old?”

“Old enough,” Iska replied, feeling more than slight abashed, and angry again with the woman. “I am nearly a man.”

He puffed out his chest with air in an attempt to show how big he was. He was big, by his own people’s standards. He did not like the look this tall woman, this Rose, gave him.

“Are you just all alone out here though?” she asked.

“I am,” said Iska. “there were other boys helping me but —” he scowled “ — they ran off to make fun in the bushes. They’ll come back eventually, and then I’ll run off and make fun.”

Rose looked at him queerly again.

“Yeah, but s’pose…” she started, but her Doctor-man put a hand on her shoulder and said her name in a way that meant no. She stopped speaking, and Iska was grateful.

“Where do you live?” asked the Doctor.

“Over that way,” Iska said, pointing back over the low hills. The one city wasn’t in view, but it wasn’t far off. Iska wondered if he had done right in pointing to it. If this man and woman did turn out to be demons then he would be to blame for any destruction they might wreck.

“Will you show us?” the Doctor asked.

“I cannot leave my flock,” said Iska. “Not with the others off playing.”

“You’re a good one,” said the Doctor. “Sticking by your post. It’s not far is it?”

“No.”

“I’m sure we’ll find our way."

The man started away. His long legs and gangly stride made Iska think of a stork, and Iska wondered if, like the bird, this Doctor was graceful in flight to make up for his awkwardness on land. If he could fly that was…? But then, the gods always had the power of flight in stories.

"You apes just climb down from the trees and make cities," said the man over his shoulder. "Then less than a dozen millennia later you have space flight. It's fantastic. Come on Rose, do keep up. I took you to see the end of the world; here's the balance."

“Take care,” said Rose. She handed Iska a small bright thing from her pocket and then she smiled at him before running to catch up with the Doctor.

Iska watched the strangers disappear over a low hill. Then he sat down to continue tending to his flock and waiting for his fellows to return. He examined the thing which Rose had given him. It was shiny, but the sheen was wrapped around a round pebble. The pebble was smooth and perfect to replace the one he’d sucked on earlier. Iska popped it in his mouth and was surprised by the sudden sour-sweet taste, so strong! His eyes bulged. He looked at the stranger’s blue box, and thought long and hard about the different natures of magic.

 

 

_fin_

* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=32311>


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